


graffiti on the proud ship's hull

by sodas



Category: Neon Genesis Evangelion
Genre: F/F, Gen, mild 3.0 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 23:47:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodas/pseuds/sodas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem with markers is that Mari draws, and the problem with drawing is that it's always on Asuka.</p>
            </blockquote>





	graffiti on the proud ship's hull

Mari has a cache of markers. Asuka wants to feed them to Unit 02 and spit ink on Mari's face.

The markers shouldn't be the problem. Plenty of responsible crewmembers are able to use them just fine for helpful and productive tasks, but Mari is a woman in her twenties who still meows provocatively when Asuka demands, "Are you a grade schooler?!" Worse still are Mari's tendencies toward insomnia; maybe an actual adult could stand to entertain herself until four-thirty a.m. Mari comes to prod in the night, though, to harass and make blanket forts. "Why do I have to babysit you?" Asuka groans one morning as the stars are fading.

"Mwell," Mari says, sucking at a gnawed-upon straw, "when you support me, I can keep supporting you. It's that sort of give-and-take thing; you're just a _stingy_ girl."

That Asuka knows this is why she still doesn't lock her door.

So, the markers. Not the most heinous offense - well below those nighttime spastics, the carefree piloting, and her constant use of Asuka's personal shampoo - but it's still _annoying,_ and Asuka could really do without. The problem with markers is that Mari draws, and the problem with _drawing_ is that it's always on _Asuka._ She'll sling her arm over the back of a chair, and feel a felt tip just moments later. She'll wake up to find ink bled along the creases of her palms, branching out like veins from hearts or flowers. She'll look down to see song lyrics on her calves. It's _maddening!_ Cat faces - crudely drawn crowns - words of encouragement in German, in English, in Japanese: - _Seize the day! Rise and shine! I'll kick your ass in testing today, let's go!_ If Asuka bares a patch of skin and they sit together, Mari will produce art. That's what she calls it, too. "It's just art! I'm expressing myself. Don't fault me for having an artist's heart." Asuka definitely faults her.

They have tea together in the afternoon on Asuka's twenty-seventh birthday. "I guess today you're High Queen!" Mari crows, but she makes good tea, and Asuka's glad to accept it. It's warm and spreads through her kindly, and she sprawls, mumbling her contentedness into a cushion to try and keep Mari from hearing. She dozes, too, because there's nothing to do until five p.m. and Mari had kept her up late. _Stupid day,_ she thinks, and drifts, _but an all right afternoon._

Her foot jerks, and that's what wakes her. The tickling registers next, and Asuka shrieks, kicking widely— her toes clip hard plastic. Mari's glasses, probably. When she scrambles upright, she looks down, and sees she was correct: Mari's in a heap, making her fish-face which says, _You killjoy._ She's also clutching... a marker. " _Ugh!_ " Asuka cries, and chucks a cushion harshly at Mari's face. "You wrote on me again! What is _wrong_ with you?"

"Just a birthday present," Mari coos shamelessly, gathering herself back up. She adjusts her glasses. "Princess, if you keep making faces like that, you'll wrinkle quickly, you know? Sorry, I meant High Queen."

"Oh, shut up!" Asuka says, and throws another cushion. "Stop drawing on me all the time! And keep away from my feet, you four-eyed creep."

"Of course, of course," sings Mari, which means she'll wait a few days to do it again. Asuka slinks off and leaves Mari to her songs, and as ever, leaves her bedroom door unlocked that night. By the time Asuka thinks to wonder what Mari even wrote, the ink has smeared grey over her sole, and whatever had been scrawled is now secret, unreadable.


End file.
